Choirmasters Poem by Leonard Ninwie

They raise the dour voice of the dancer
As much as the elastic voice of the singer
In duty to the endless song of the concert and
These lead singers; choirmasters they are called
Even their ordained heads are at the conductor’s sword
Heads that are holier than gods but dust they are returned
The distorted voices of the talentless in strain of pain
And the melodious voices of the envied few in
Unison with the lost souls of onomatopoeia
Like the dancer, singer and actor of life’s opera
With their chorus breath lost at the birth of verses
With unending choirs and new birthing choristers
At the earthly mercy of these mitotic choirmasters;
Who are old as the dead brows of the omnipresent Cripes!